Saturday and I wake up and stare into space until my partner rings me a decaf coffee. Its taking me a longer mthan usual to get myself going. My brain is befugged and feels as if it is on slow mode. The pixies that run my head are decidedly sleepy and appear to still be in their nightshirts and not sure which filing cabinets they should be opening, there is a lot of yawning going on in the frontal lobes. After a while I get up for breakfast, a delicious bacon sandwich, and the women’s world cup games. A voice nags me in my head to shift my arse but the football wins and my arse gets stuck on the sofa. Eventually I work up the energy to hang my washing out after which I need to sit for a while. I’ve a terrific headache so I down some paracetamol and get ready to go shopping for food with my partner.

We go to our local garden centre which hosts a good butcher and gather meat and pies for the weekend. As the restaurant was empty my partner and I indulged in scones and hot chocolate. having done our shopping we return home, I am knackered, almost spoonless. It is ridiculous that I can be so devoid of energy doing so little but that is how it is. How on earth I am supposed to exercise vigorously to avoid the drug side effects when I cannot raise the energy to sit upright on a sofa. I watch more football and when my partner brought my washing in I managed to get it put away and do my second set of vitals for the day. My vitals are consistently good, no adverse signs of raised blood pressure, heart rate good, SATs always in the high 90s and temperature normal. I make the effort to draft the blog so that I do not fall asleep over it late at night. I draft it to the background of Brief Encounter, it is impossibly English but coupled with Rachmaninov’s 2nd piano concerto it is the most perfect exposition of unrequited love. Akin to Pablo Neruda’s song of despair in which the the repeated line “In you everything sank” poignantly recalls the loss of reciprocal love. Brief Encounter of course draws its poignancy from the fact that the love is unrequited on both parties behalf.

My evening zips by in a sluggish way, with tea followed by Midsummer Murders. I can feel myself grinding to a halt so I down my night meds and go to bed early, or at least early for me.

Thursday, I wake to my eldest daughters birthday so there is covert wrapping to do and dining out in the evening. In between there was stuff. Chores and bits & pieces which shows how much my brain is fatigued and not functioning a the moment. I managed to find some excellent socks as presents which I share with you here because they cheered me and my eldest daughter up no end.

Friday has been a day of shredding more old documents, getting the car M.O.T’d (successfully), doing my washing and wondering why my head is not working properly. I pondered this as I was filling my dugs wallets for the next two weeks. All my vitals are good morning and afternoon, and England’s women beat some foreign country in the football as I organised my drugs. I tried writing a poem, a sort of construction thing as I sat in the café waiting for my MOT to be done. That was a disaster, as nothing in my head connected to anything I feel, in fact there was a distinct lack of flow or inspiration. It’s becoming a real effort to draft the blog. I yawn and my limbs do not know what to do with themselves. All I want to do is eat chocolate to comfort myself. I’m fatigued, I take my meds and slouch off to bed wondering if this is the time to try cocaine, there cannot be many years left in my septum. Plan after getting cancer was to live to 75 and see my second grandson born and then get on with the next five year plan, but the 5 year plan has become a bit vague. Sunshine would help.

Wednesday, I wake alone and get up to do my vitals and then have breakfast and meds. I clear the kitchen and watch the end of a football match. It is my eldest daughters birthday tomorrow so I drive myself to the local Sainsburys and do some food shopping. I am surrounded by temptation and it seems rude not to give into it so I indulge in the purchase of jam doughnuts alongside my essentials. I drive home and pack the goodies away and take my eldest daughter to the village café for lunch where we dine and chat about her studies. I note that new Lilys have appeared in the garden.

Back home I watch the Irish women’s team lose to Canada at the World Cup. There are aspects of women’s football that are refreshing, for example there is far less feigned pain and dramatic rolling around on the ground. There is still a physical side to game as witnessed by the number of penalties award in the early rounds but there is less cynical hacking down and “taking one for the team” crap going on. With the game over I get ready to train. There has been a gap of five days since I trained due to the trip to see my new grandson, who is doing really well along with mum and dad. I get into the garage and set myself up to row for an hour. It goes okay, I have Radio 2 in my ears although I was not impressed by the stand in for Sarah Cox but there you go. The hour goes by as I reach my target of 12 plus kilometres and a burn off of 800 plus calories. I am pleased as it is my first post jab training session, which can be a bit sore but this time seems to have gone well.

I get out of my sweaty kit and then begin to cook the Indian meal I bought on my shopping trip. Mid way through I get my eldest to continue the process while I have a pee. To my dismay there is blood in my urine. Its a heart sink moment. I am so disappointed and distressed at the same time. If I cannot train to avoid the chemo side effects then that’s a crap outcome in terms of quality of life. On the other hand I can continue to train and live with the consequences, which is mainly the distress of pissing blood when I train. Can’t be good can it, devil and deep blue sea comes to mind. I could weep but that doesn’t do anything does it, so its time to re assess options and explore what else will keep me fit, lean and side effect free. I feel a period of research and experimentation coming on.

I eat tea, wave my eldest off to Jiu Jitsu and settle down to write the blog before the final of the Great British Sewing Bee. I sit on my end of the sofa reflecting in the solitude of the house. I am understandably pensive, I’ve been in this place before, I know I have to wait for my body to recover so I expect I shall spend a couple of days reading and writing letters, perhaps now is a good time to throw a few more poems into the meat grinder of competition as there are some open at the moment. Tonight I head for an early night and perhaps a bed time read.

Tuesday and I claw my way awake. My partner brings me a coffee and I shift myself to get breakfast and take my morning meds. My partner is going to Birmingham to see a friend for a couple of days so I give her a lift to the station along with my eldest daughter who is going to the physio. I return to an empty house and have a coffee before clearing things away.

I add the details of my new grandson to the family tree. A friend calls and we chat for twenty minutes, catching up with how we are and what awaits us in the future. She is off with her family to Norfolk for a holiday soon and is in the last stages of organising and keeping her children occupied in the mean time. After our call I have another go at archiving some of the documents and photos that are still sitting in our hall way after being removed from my deceased sisters house. I spend hours with files and pocket sheets adding to existing files and creating new ones. I stop for an omelette and coffee and realise I have a stonking headache. Paracetamol taken I get myself sofa’d and draft the blog waiting for the point I feel hungry.

At some point I will eat and then rest early. I am feeling the full force of yesterdays jab combined with the side effects of the chemo. Its one of those days I just have to push through. At the moment I am struggling to think and get my brain to work. I’m fatigued and not functioning well at the moment, hopefully rest and sleep will help.

Jab Monday and I am brought coffee to get me going. I scrabble around and get myself to the GP surgery, its raining and I feel sluggish. The nurse appears and we go through our routine. She finds a less lumpy part of my gut and pushes the large amount of content in to me. That done she gives me a B12 jab in the arm for good measure. I walk home in the rain, eat breakfast, take my morning meds and go to the Shed. There I write letters until lunchtime. I am already running out of spoons and get fed by my partner.

I start to read a new book, A Gentleman in Moscow but cannot keep my eyes open and nap. I rouse myself and go to the spare room to take my vitals, which are all good. I try to read again but I can feel myself falling into the cold post injection state that comes with todays jab. I fall asleep again until my partner wakes me for tea. My evening is a stare at TV until I feel myself collapsing inside at which point I draft the blog, take my meds and get myself to bed as quickly as possible. Tonight will not be a good one so I need to take extra paracetamol. Despite all my jab Monday hurdles there is the good news that my new Grandson has had a good first night at home.

Sunday and its been a rough night. This Premier Inn has sealed windows and an air circulation system, allegedly. The result is that our box has no flow and the heat builds up, so its a tricky nights sleep. We go for breakfast and this time I use my trusty Swiss army penknife to open the Muesli packets thus avoiding the explosion of muesli that covered the floor yesterday as I tried to get into the impossibly thick packaging. So today I went prepared adn breakfast went smoothly. While breakfast is being consumed there is a message from my youngest daughter asking for a pack of size 1 nappies as she is down to the last two they have with them.

I and my partner pack, load the car and then go off to the local Sainsburys to get nappies and wipes. With a successful shopping trip done we get taxi to the hospital and go straight to the Women’s Centre. The new arrival is feeding well and we hang around while the nurse establishes that he and parents will be going home today and then runs through the need to know information. We take the chance for a hug from the new born.

There is a lot to be done before Dangerous Beans and parents can go home today so I and my partner say our farewells and get a taxi back to the hotel. We stop for hot chocolate and crepes before we head for home up the motorway.

Once home there is relief that all is well but the new boy has yet to be released to go home, so I settle down to watch rugby and draft the blog while I wait to hear that Dangerous Beans is safely home.

Hurray the new family are home and nestling down together for their first night. Now I can settle down and do my routine things on a pre injection Sunday, paracetamol, night meds and hopefully sleep.

Saturday and there is only one thing that matters on this day, a day I feared I would not get to see or experience. Today is the day I got to see and hold my new grandson and first born of my youngest daughter. Not yet a full day, this new life nestled quietly in my arms. Its a day that make every moment I fight worth the battles, the set backs and every moment I strive to keep fit and alive for as long as possible.

There is nothing else to be said really, the family has grown and thrives. My job now is to keep joining it all together. There are Swedish grandchildren to weave together with their peers, perhaps somewhere in the future they can all meet. In the meantime I will keep archiving their family history.

Thursday is a blur apart form getting a letter from a friend, the start of the women’s world cup and one training session, which was a struggle.

The evening was a poor Agatha Christie movie, the child did it. Meds and then bed.

Friday and I wake early for todays the day my youngest delivers a grandson, Dangerous Beans, and we are off to Gloucester to see them. So I breakfast early, shower, and then take the car to fill and check the tyres. I’m packed and ready to go, any moment now could be the call as she was due in at midday for a C section and now it 12:42. I am on tenterhooks. I drive my partner and I to the hotel in Glouster to await news of Dangerous Beans.

Hurray Hurray Dangerous Beans has arrived and weighed in at 9lbs 15 ounces at 15:54 at Gloucester Royal Hospital. I am a grandfather again and my partner a grandparent for the first time. All concerned are well and thriving.

There is nothing else to say on such a day. My partner and I dine on Greek food, finish with Metaxa and retreat to the hotel. Tomorrow we will visit the new family member. For now I draft the blog, take my meds and go to bed.

Wednesday morning seems far off at the moment I’m tired. I got up, did my vitals and wander downstairs. I decide I can’t be arsed to make breakfast and walk down to the village shop to get a paper and then I onto the village café. Disaster strikes. The village café is closed. The owners have had the temerity to go on holiday and wont be back till July the 26th. I drag myself home and set about constructing a fried egg sandwich and a decaf coffee. So now I am fed I wander into the overgrown front garden. I do hours of weeding and freeing the irises from the undergrowth. This wet and warm weather is having the effect of creating a green jungle that is closing in on me. I beaver away until I can do no more. My garden is producing beauty everywhere, in some cases spectacularly so.

Alongside the blooms comes other signs of wildlife. My squirrels dig everywhere in there pursuit of storing and recovering their nut stores. I assume they are trying to help me in the garden and working along side me. They have a habit of drawing attention to unused patches of ground or empty pots.

By the time I am through with the garden there is time for a beef sandwich and Amazon deliver my new stationary to take the family archiving forward. I spend all afternoon putting photographs into page holders and documents into sleeves and setting up ring binders for various members of the family. I add a file for my sisters school reports and sketches and one for me. Mine is thin and contains some school reports from my junior school and my spectacular fail postcard at “O” level. I eventually can do no more, I run out of spoons and cannot face digging through yet more family documents, perhaps tomorrow. My partner returns from seeing her mother and I replace her car key battery as its been on the blink. We eat tea, book a hotel to be close to our youngest daughter on Friday when she is booked to have a C section and settle down for the evening and watch The Departed, with a brilliant cast including Nicholson, De Caprio, Winston and Damon, directed by Scorsese. I draft the blog in a state of spoonlessness.

There are days that drag no matter how much I try to lift myself, today has been one. I think the chemo drugs kick in from time to time to make me fatigued. As a result I am less tolerant and kind than I would like to be. I’ve no time for repeating myself or for those situation where people can’t make up their own minds and piss about trying to displace the decision or the blame for their being no decision. I just have not got the energy to be as tolerant as I want to be. Anyway its going to be an exciting few days with the arrival of Dangerous Beans and becoming a grandfather again. I think doing all the family history stuff recently has wheedled its way into me, I found myself thinking that I could at least tell my grandchildren who their great great great great grandparents were. It seems strangely important for then to know what their roots spring from, its something I’m not sure I ever had. It seems it became a family that gathered things but was not good at being people, a strange mix of appreciation and gathering but low on relating. Begs the question on how on earth I became a psychologist, perhaps attracted to the unknown.

Tuesday arrives and I wake up to the sound on my partner at work in the office downstairs, we are back to post holiday normal. I check my messages and emails adn find one from my youngest daughter heads upping me that an email has come in from the solicitor dealing with the sale of the house in London. I get up, do my vitals and put away yesterdays washing before going downstairs to breakfast. To my delight I find a forgotten bag of freshly ground decaffeinated coffee and make myself a pot. I then set about down loading all the papers from the solicitor. Its a nonsense, they want an entire checklist of everything in the down to plug sockets and other trivia. They also want papers signed by the owner, good trick if you can do it as she is dead. Some lazy arse in the solicitors office has just sent out a standard package with thinking about what they are doing. I email back asking for clarification about ownership when it is part of a dead persons estate and the executors position in this when the estate is being handled by colleagues in the same firm of solicitors. I tell the that no one from the family is going to London to do an inventory given it was sold as seen and their colleagues in the same firm over saw the clearance, cleaning and preparation for sale. If they want a inventory they can get their colleagues responsible for the estate to do it. A good mornings task for a para legal I would have thought. As yet there is no reply.

It would seem that there is still more death admin to be done in the form of finding space to locate he family archive. I set about creating space for the files and other bits and pieces still sitting in the hall way. I am at least successful in clearing the floor space in the spare bedroom, reconfiguring the storage unit and starting to locate the files in it. There is is also the final coming together of all knickknacks, which will need to be dispersed, sold, junked or donated. I review the filing system for the many documents and photos and invest in more spring binders and photo holders to reduce storage space. So tomorrow I will have new resource and the chance to further organise the stuff laying around. Having got to the end of where I can get to I decide to train. I do not feel like it but it needs to be done. I get changed and get to the garage and set myself up for an hours row. This session goes better than the last session and I reach my standard goals, so I hit 12000+ metres and 800+ calories.

I am a sweaty mess at the end of the session and I take a while to recover before moving the car of the drive for the Tesco order later tonight and putting the bins out. With all this done its time to eat tea and start to draft the blog. The evening will dribble away till Tesco deliver and then I can settle down and read before getting myself to bed.